Kisses
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Or the lack thereof. Postseries Royai, no spoilers. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: I have seen WAY too many "fluffy Royai" fics in my time. I wonder if anyone else notices how Mustang and Hawkeye never come even CLOSE to kissing, or even holding hands, in the anime. I mean, the closest they come is at the end, when Hawkeye screams at Mustang to stay alive, and when Mustang says his famous line, "That's what makes it so beautiful." Even if the two of them got married, I don't think they would make too many outward expressions of their love. In my opinion, it's just not in the nature of their personalities and relationship. To make my point, I've written this cheesy one-shot.**

Roy and Liza Mustang rarely kissed each other. Kisses, they agreed, should be saved for special occasions, or the meaning of each kiss would degenerate into something everyday, and then routine. Neither of them wished for such a thing to happen, so the gentle kisses they placed on each other's lips were largely reserved for their anniversary or other such special moments.

Ordinary days, therefore, were businesslike and formal compared to most young couples. When Roy rose from their bed in the morning, tousle-haired and yawning, Liza would be awake already, emerging from the shower in her bathrobe or brushing out her smooth golden hair. They wouldn't speak to each other - Roy, because he was _not_ a morning person; Liza, because she knew he would only snap grumpily at her attempts at conversation. Roy would take his own shower, donning his crisp military uniform, and come downstairs to find breakfast already on the table. Somehow, Liza had managed to work his morning habits into an exact schedule; she always seemed to be sitting down at the dining room table just as he came through the door. Roy, having woken up sufficiently by that time, would smile and say, "Good morning, Liza."

Liza always had a smile ready as well, quickly followed by a, "Good morning, sir." That was one of the things Roy couldn't help but love about her: though he had initially protested, she insisted on continuing to call him 'sir.' It seemed she saw his first name in a similar light to his kisses. When she called him 'Roy,' he always paid attention, whether she was scolding him or whispering words of love into his ear. It wasn't just his name when she spoke it; it carried a deeper meaning than simply a word that referred to him in general.

When they had completed the morning ritual of greeting one another, Roy would sit down at the head of the long table and Liza would pour him a cup of tea. As they ate their breakfast, they would discuss what the day at work had in store for them: the Drachman ambassador due to visit, or the annual selection of State Alchemists, or another of the myriad of duties they had to see to. Their conversation was matter-of-fact, straightforward, to the point.

As soon as their breakfast was finished, they would don their coats and head for the military headquarters. On the rare occasion Roy won the brief argument they sometimes had, he would drive; more often than not, Liza was the one behind the wheel. They would continue their conversation from the breakfast table, or ride in contented silence.

Days at work were very busy, and they had little time to spare for idle chatter or moments of inactivity. Much as Roy would have liked to slack off, the duties of the Fuhrer were important and Liza made sure each was fulfilled. Lunch was hurried, forgotten, or eaten at their desks while they continued with their work. When at last the long day came to a close, they would return to the car and drive home in tired silence.

Roy and Liza usually perked up over dinner, and their conversation would turn to more domestic matters: the maid Margarita was requesting a well-earned vacation, they really needed a new gardener now that Jacob's age was starting to catch up with him, and wouldn't the drawing room look better in blue. Sometimes after dinner they would sit in front of a roaring fire and read silently to themselves. Their hands would find each other at some point, and they would sit quietly, their hands clasped, as they read in comfortable silence.

When Roy's head began to droop over his book, Liza would close her own book with a loud snap to rouse him, and they would retire for the night. Ordinary days for the Mustangs were filled with comfortable routines, and Roy was content to go without many physical expressions of their affection. Why did they need to smother each other with kisses or murmur honeyed words to each other at every turn? They loved each other, and that was what mattered.


End file.
